Science, According to Empedocles
by trustno1-1987
Summary: Earth, Air, Fire and Water. They cannot exist alone. DL.
1. Introduction

**Title: **Science, According to Empedocles

**Author: **Lindz, badwolf, trustno1-1987 (depending on where I'm posting this)

**Pairing: **Danny/Lindsay

**Rating:** 12, K+; it's pretty tame.

**Disclaimer:** Fresh out of wit - have some sarcasm: Yeah, sure, these are mine... Ooh, look, there's a pig coming in to land...

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Introduction

Around 450BC, the Greek philosopher Empedocles stated that all matter consisted of just four elements – _Terra, Aer, Ignis, _and _Aqua_, otherwise known as Earth, Air, Fire and Water. Since this time, groups have worshipped these elements, believing that they symbolise different aspects essential to life itself.

_Terra_,or Earth represents the solid state of being, which is the sacred Mother Earth, the planet on which we live.

_Aer_, or Air represents the breath of life that is needed to survive.

_Ignis_, or Fire represents the life force within us, and the heat of the Sun, which allows survival on Earth.

_Aqua_, or Water represents the blood of all life.

The houses of the zodiac are each assigned to one of these elements, the personality traits exhibited by individuals supposedly influenced by the element that controls their sign. On the surface the four elements seem to contradict each other. However, the relationship among them, according to Empedocles, is particularly significant.

These elements are dependant on each other to survive.

They are all connected.

They cannot exist alone.


	2. Terra: Sensuous

**Chapter One: Terra - Earth**

_Terra: Sensuous, cautious, pragmatic, precise, stubborn, intolerant, compulsive._

You flick through the yellowing, well-thumbed pages of a non-descript book on astrology, symbology and other such mumbo-jumbo, not really engaged in the task at hand. Your gaze halts upon a page thick with pencilled-in notes. It's so dense that in some places the printed text and scribbled notes are indistinguishable from one another, a black stain on a yellowing paper sea. An intricate ambigram sits in one corner, no-one's thoughts encroaching on its space, and you are mesmerised by it.

And the text underneath details, amongst other things, characteristics of these elements; the extra notes, written almost entirely by one precise hand, elaborate on them. And make cryptic references to their life and people in it. Which gets you to thinking about your life. And thinking less than cryptically about one person in particular.

* * *

_Sensuous_

He wasn't one of those guys that did the whole 'love at first sight' thing. Occasionally it was lust at first sight, but even then, it was far too mushy… And he certainly didn't, after being attracted to, or dating, a woman for any length of time, say to them: 'I knew the moment I lay eyes on you…'. That was best left to chick-flicks and soap operas. Not him. Not Danny Messer.

The first time he set eyes on Lindsay Monroe, in New York Zoo, he was coming up behind her. And, yes, he checked her out a little. Grey suit pants, hinting at well-toned legs, coupled with sensible heals to give that extra bit of height. Fitted, light pink shirt, showing off her slim figure. Shoulder-length brown hair, straightened and immaculate. Warm brown eyes that seemed constantly focussed on whatever she was doing, whether talking to her new boss, helping to take teeth impressions of a tiger, shooting annoyed glances at Danny Messer. Cute in a country-girl-in-a-big-city kind of way, but not exactly his type. Plus, she'd just waltzed in and replaced Aiden Burn – his best friend – and no bumpkin from No-where, Montana could ever replace her.

There was something about her though, he had to admit. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

He came close when she whipped out that penknife. God only knew where she was keeping that – those trousers didn't exactly come with a G.I. Joe number of pockets and whatnot – though he didn't think too much about that. He was more impressed with the fact that she'd just conjured up a knife like it was no big deal. Guess that's a country girl for ya.

The subway case – or at least the initial crime scene – was an eye opener. Quite literally. Green is a good colour for Montana. And that length of dress, with heels, and a generous neckline, is good to get Danny kick started about having to work overtime after an eighteen-hour shift. Plus, he was getting that bit closer to figuring out why he found himself staring at her for longer than Mac would deem necessary. Or professional.

It was during the most unlikely scenarios that he'd blink, and realise a significant number of seconds had been lost to gazing at Lindsay. Like the time they were interrogating a suspect who was far more interested in leering at Lindsay than listening to anything either of them had to say. It seemed to Danny that it bothered him more than it did her. True, her eyes flashed dangerously, her words were that bit crisper, her smile definitely not containing the warmth he knew it could, but that was her interrogation mode. And damn, if he didn't find it more attractive each time.

Like the time they'd been questioning a witness and got caught in a sudden summer shower walking back to the lab. Her loose hair, previously straight, had darkened and curled, sticking to her cheeks and neck; it ruined the immaculate and professional look, but looked far cuter, and suited her more in his opinion. He blurted that out as they stood, dripping, in the locker room; it earned him a towel to the head. Maybe he shouldn't have said 'you look good wet'. Still, she started wearing her hair like that more and more afterwards.

Like when she was striding through the lab in blue overalls; carrying a shotgun in an evidence bag; hair escaping in wisps from a ponytail; cheeks flushed and a grin on her face. She'd caught him standing in the doorway, gaping, and before she could call him on it and embarrass him, he'd smirked at her.

"Nice perfume, Montana – what is that, eau de garbage?"

"You're hilarious, Messer. Now, if you don't mind – " she pointed the gun towards the door he was currently blocking, " – some of us do more than sit on our asses all day thinking up lame one-liners." And with a satisfied smirk, brushed past him into the lab. Danny had a feeling she'd seen straight through him. Again.

Still, it wasn't until a year after that incident when he finally had a name for that characteristic of hers. It was at the forefront of his mind as she held him back in the courtroom in Montana, gazing at him in such a way that he had never seen, and hoped no other man ever would. It was on the tip of his tongue as she snaked her arms around his neck and kissed his breath away, whilst their taxi driver waited in the lot. It came to him in her hotel room that night, as they talked, and kissed, and laughed, and kissed some more. He'd figured out what it was about Lindsay Monroe that made it so difficult to turn away. Well… not completely and utterly figured it. He hoped he'd never do that. But he could put a name to it now.

It was her sensuousness.

The word that was a whole new level of sexy. Sexy was too superficial, too ordinary, too well-used to be applied to Montana. This was sexy that went deep down into the very essence of being; that included her personality into the equation, as opposed to it being an afterthought. This was the way she oozed charisma without appearing fake. The way she could be a cop, a scientist, a woman, a country girl, all at once and not play on those stereotypes. Be intelligent, and not afraid to show it. Gorgeous, but in an unassuming way.

Yep. Danny Messer was agreed. Lindsay Monroe was sensuous.

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**AN: Big thank yous to marialisa and SallyJetson who beta-d and generally checked things over for me. Hugs!**

**These chapters were going to contain all of the characteristics listed under the chapter heading. However, once I started writing them, I realised, and marialisa agreed, that each chapter would end up being about 6000 words long, which is too long. Hence, each characteristic gets its own chapter.**

**AN2: I did have an actual picture of the ambigram mentioned in the opening paragraphs, but it won't show on here. However, google image 'ambigram - earth air fire and water' into your internet address box, and look at the 'nbmaa' site one, and you'll see which one I had in mind. (Sorry, ff. net doesn't like web addys).**

**Thank you for reading. BadWolf.**


	3. Terra: Cautious

**Terra: Earth**

_Cautious _

He guessed it was because she was new to the city – a city that had more inhabitants than the whole of her home state – that she seemed rather wary of him at first. Though, that could have had something to do with the little prank he pulled on her in the tiger's cage. And his nickname for her (not that she put up much of a fight about it anymore…). And his mildly hostile nature towards her.

But Danny definitely sensed Lindsay's caution around him in the beginning. He caught her glancing his way in the lab on her first day. Whipping her head back at a rate of knots to study the evidence in front of her, she wasn't fast enough to hide the small, guarded smile, or the worried flash in her eyes – whether from being caught or for another reason, he didn't know.

He'd see it when he'd casually suggest they grab a bite to eat during a case. It'd be fine if one of them were in the break room, wolfing down something that might resemble food whilst waiting for results, and the other joined them. No problem if everyone else left, and they were alone, chatting about cases, New York traffic, rent; it didn't matter. But if he actually suggested it, she'd change the subject; fall back on good old evidence and work as an excuse. For what, he couldn't figure out.

They'd stood on a snowy sidewalk in the middle of New York's bustling mid-day foot traffic, and he'd held her hand to prove a point. Her eyes didn't leave his until he'd stopped talking, and they were still holding hands. Danny saw caution there, but there was a hint of something else, and he grabbed at that. Caution won out. He back peddled, making out, like her, that it was no big deal.

It didn't always win out though. Lindsay didn't know, but before she'd asked him a favour with an experiment, Danny'd seen her pacing the locker room, an intense frown wrinkling her forehead, muttering excuses and reasons to herself. However, during said experiment, where he carried her across a rooftop (with the only downside being that a tech was standing not 20 feet away), he knew her words didn't falter, that he hands didn't shake ever so slightly, because of caution.

Nor was there caution at Cozy's, where a drink to show off Lindsay's investigative skills progressed into a second drink and stories of cases. Then a third drink, and stories of childhood, including much explaining with hands, and no apologies when explanations got mixed.

Or at a little coffee bar two blocks from the lab, that they started to go to during double or triples about a year after she started at the lab, but only for take-out. Lindsay never paid for hers, and they ambled back slower each time, and it was never a lunch date, but there was never caution either.

Or accepting a lift home from the hospital after the bombing. There was a myriad of emotions in her eyes that night, but caution didn't win out as they left, and pulled up outside her apartment, chatting quietly until Lindsay reminded him they both had to be up early. Pressing a light kiss on Danny's cheek, she slipped out of the truck and was up the steps before he had time to say goodnight.

Caution seemed to be a very undulating emotion when it came to Lindsay Monroe. At least in Danny's opinion. From the beginning, it gradually decreased, rarely taking a step backwards, allowing him to see behind the CSI Lindsay. Then suddenly, it was their first meeting all over again, though this time, they had a year-long relationship of sorts looking over their shoulders, poking them with questions that hung unanswered in the air.

Now, that caution had been banished with a single word and comforting presence. Cautious was not a word Danny Messer would now chose to describe Lindsay Monroe's feelings towards him.

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AN: Because ff. net doesn't seem to want to alert me to reviews and whatnot, I only thought to check half an hour ago :s So, thank you all very very much for reviewing - I'm glad people like it - and I will start replying to y'all individually. 


	4. Terra: Pragmatism

_**Terra -**_** Earth**

_Pragmatism_

From day one, Danny Messer knew what kind of person Lindsay Monroe would be. She was a scientist after all, just like he was, and scientists thought in a certain direction. It didn't matter that he came from one of the biggest and best cities in the world, and that she came from a town effectively in the middle of nowhere. The fact remained that both of them were scientists.

And for the most part, they were alike. Neither of them would have admitted it in the beginning, but looking back, Danny recognised the undercurrent of practicality, realism, that flowed through the both of them. Part of her character, it would have been one of the aspects driving her to become a scientist. Or, maybe, her career just happened. The common-sense solution to the way in which she viewed the world.

From what Danny had observed, her life was an assemblage of practicalities. Her work dress was chosen with a pragmatic eye – low heels, trousers, shirts or sweaters. Her attire was always professional and suitable for the job. Attractive, but professional, he decided.

From a conversation with Mac, he'd learnt she likely had as many (or few) hair and beauty products as he did. Not exactly much call for it if you're dumpster diving, or stuck in a lab for hours on end. She still looked gorgeous though. In his scientific opinion.

He'd overheard her on the phone, just after she'd started at the lab, talking to a landlord about an apartment in Manhattan. In about two minutes she'd introduced herself, asked about the location (40 minutes from the lab), rent (same as what Danny was paying), utilities (included), subway stops (two minute walk away), access (stairs and occasionally working elevator), number of rooms (living room, kitchen-diner, bathroom, bedroom) and taken it there and then.

"You aren't gonna look at it first?" he'd asked as she hung up, smiling.

"Why would I need to do that?"

"What if it's a bad neighbourhood?"

"I know it; it's not. The rent is fine, it's close to work, has enough rooms, and I'll get fit walking up the stairs 'cause it's the fourth floor," she had replied simply. Danny frowned.

"Don't woman like to, y'know, get a feel of the place or somethin'?" At least, that was what his sister had said as she dragged him around the eighth apartment in two hours. Lindsay had just looked at him strangely.

"What's to feel? – it's just a building."

II

There seemed to be a little more to the newest CSI than simple scientific practicality. During their first meeting and case together, he had teased her about coming from a small community in Montana. Her retort – "Have you ever seen what a fully grown black bear can do to a man?" – had been fired back at him almost before he'd finished speaking. He smirked and shut up. And thought. Something told him that had he asked what, she would have reeled off a gruesome list of those debilitating injuries with no qualms, ever the scientific one. Probably would've smirked at him too. Damn pragmatism.

He noticed she fell back on pragmatic comments when he teased her. Like the first case, in the freezers of the meat-packing factory (he seemed to have teased he a lot that first case). She said that in Montana, people kept that much meat in their freezers; it was a fact, a statement. It didn't need a response (though he heard her small laugh when he did), and she appeared oblivious to the nature of the comment.

They worked a case involving a music promoted who'd had glue poured over his face after being hit in the throat with a bass guitar. Danny joked to Mac that they were on the case 'like glue' as they passed in the corridor. He'd chuckled, and Lindsay looked at him indulgently.

"He doesn't think that's funny you know. He's just humouring you," she said with a smile, walking off.

"You don't know him like I do," he called after he retreating form. Apparently that was an invitation to investigate. Two nights later, they were sitting in Cozy's jazz bar, listening to Mac play bass in his band. Danny couldn't decide if Lindsay was showing off her investigative skills, or if she just did what came naturally to her and worked from 'a' ('you don't know him like I do') to 'b' (how he held the bass; a standing appointment on Wednesdays) to 'c' (Mac played in a band, present the results to Danny). Either way, it was impressive (he didn't think he would have had the same view when she first arrived at the lab, but things changed). Though he couldn't help but wonder if she was hinting at something as well. The way she'd said 'maybe you didn't know him as well as you thought', looking straight at him with her head cocked. If she used pragmatism to deflect his teasing (good-natured or not), what's to say she wouldn't use it for something else? He sighed. It was bad enough that she was a woman – she had to be a scientist as well?

III

Daisies were her favourite flower, Danny discovered. A normal, everyday, common daisy. He asked why, wondering if she'd sigh and launch into some wistful story about childhood and first dates. Instead, she grinned:

" I love how they grow anywhere they like; muddy soil, immaculate lawns, the cracks between paving slabs." She wrinkled her forehead, thinking. "Plus, they look happy."

He gave a short laugh. Who could argue with that?

They went back to her hotel after the trial since he hadn't had time to check in anywhere. He approached the desk to ask for a room (preferably near Lindsay's), but she'd tugged on his arm.

"What are you doing?" she asked, leading him to the elevator bank.

"Erm, getting a room?"

"Why?" She sounded puzzled.

"Because you only have one bed in your room?" He didn't mean to answer everything with a question, but she was looking at him as though he should know the answer to whatever she was asking, and he didn't.

"It's a _double bed_," she said matter-of-factly. "Y'know – for _two_ people?"

Sometimes, Danny Messer really did like Lindsay Monroe's pragmatic nature.

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_AN: Considering I had the most trouble writing this chapter, it is actually the longest... go figure. And thank you to everyone who has reviewed/continues to review - you really do make my day :) And I'm replying to all reviews (promise!) but I don't know whether anyone's receiving them or not, because alerts are still down grumbles. People are gonna have nice full inboxes when the thing does get sorted out..._

_Also, I'm now back at uni (yay!), and am revising for exams (doh!) so updates may be on the sporadic side for a little while; I do apologise. _


	5. Terra: Precision

**Terra: Earth**

_Precision _

**Search:-** Lindsay Monroe.

**1,390,000 Hits**

**Search:-** Lindsay Monroe, Bozeman CSI

**50,700 Hits**

**Bozeman Daily Chronicle**

The **CSI** on the case, **Lindsay Monroe**, specialises in blood spatter analysis, and according to her supervisor… _read more_

**Bozeman Courier Article Archives**

'**CSI** Lab gets a facelift'…

**Lindsay Monroe** and her partner, Samantha Hamilton, remain on the high-profile case of… _read more_

**Forensic Scientist, Issue 681, Jan 2004**

Article 3, page 18: **Lindsay Monroe**, David Wyzenski, Liz Young

**Bozeman Daily Chronicle**

'Big Sky **CSI** Leaves for the Big Apple'

**Lindsay Monroe**, **CSI** of three years, is leaving to take a job in New York's finest crime lab… "**Lindsay** is a thorough, hard-working woman, and an asset to our crime lab. Detective Taylor from New York was impressed…" "wish **Lindsay** the very best of luck…" _read more_

I

Danny closed the browser window with a sigh. There went his hope that Aiden's replacement would be some rookie from Hicksville that he could push around a bit. Still, this wasn't a small-town science lab she'd be working in – one of the articles said it itself: 'New York's finest crime lab' – so maybe he could have some fun with that.

Working side-by-side in the lab for the first time, Danny glanced over at his new partner. Her eyes took on an intense, focused stare as she worked on evidence, as though she were mentally interrogating it, willing it to reveal secrets. He supposed that was a good thing – if she was replacing Aiden, she best be a damn hard worker.

It was another few weeks before they worked a case together and he could see first hand how she was faring. He knew Mac and Stella were impressed (especially after the tram murders they'd worked on), but he'd like to see a bit more of that meticulousness they were on about. Plus, he hadn't had anyone to tease in a while.

They talked through the particulars of the case, Danny making sure to reel all the information off, parrot-style, to show Lindsay how it was done. She still managed to have the last word. Still, there was the evidence to process – an elastic, chopsticks and a folded piece of paper – that he'd seen her carefully disassembling. He'd have the last word then.

"The missing second party was wearing size six shoes, seven tops. So we're looking for a small woman," Lindsay said, handing him a glossy photo.

"Or a young one."

"And, the report said there was a likely sexual connection – DOA was in his 50s." She looked at Danny. "Do you want the elastic or the paper?"

"I should probably handle the paper coz there might be something on it."

He didn't miss the glare and rolled eyes, the small sigh of exasperation. Neither did he miss how her mouth curled up into a smile as she circled the table. Danny returned his attention to the piece of paper, which, as he thought, looked to give them a decent lead. His eyes, however, kept flicking to Lindsay as she processed the elastic.

He realised she held herself slightly differently when processing: in the same way her eyes focused on the task, her body seemed to react to the urgency and importance of evidence. Her back was straight, her movements deliberate and precise, but with a kind of fluidity that he found surprisingly fascinating to watch.

He felt her gaze on him, and glanced up, doing a double take as he saw Lindsay holding the labelled evidence.

"You done?"

"Waiting on you," she replied with a smug smirk that softened to a smile, her eyes on Danny's.

Dammit.

II

The precision with which Lindsay carried out her work in the lab or the field continued to fascinate Danny, and every so often, if he was having to process some particularly monotonous piece of evidence, or worse, write up the paperwork, he'd watch whatever she was doing, studying and memorising the details.

Danny loved her handwriting. The curve of the 'y's and 'g's; the fact that her 'r's are old-fashioned; the way it's so neat and exact as to be typed, but at the same time is far more personal than that. Even when she doodled on notepads it was perfectly formed (unlike his chicken scrawl). And he adored the way she wrote Montana.

He noticed how she frowned when she was concentrating, but bit her bottom lip when she was thinking. He grinned when evidence got backed-up and she had to wait impatiently, huffing and sighing across the table from him because her order had been disrupted. And he rolled his eyes and muttered when she yelled at him for messing up her desk.

"Lighten up, Montana. Let your hair down a bit; live on the wild side, y'know? A few shuffled papers won't kill you."

"I don't need to lighten up; I do let my hair down; I am perfectly capable of living on the 'wild side', and shuffled papers might result in _your_ death not mine, because they were in an order."

They both glared at each other for a few seconds, then Lindsay turned and stalked off to find some results, and Danny collapsed into his chair, shaking his head.

Sometimes, Danny despaired at the way Lindsay's meticulous, precise CSI character seemed to blend into her everyday, non-CSI nature. Like with her desk. Or tea. Not coffee. There were no specifics for coffee: if it was hot and strong, she was happy. But her specific type of tea _had_ to have the tiniest splash of milk, and one _level_ teaspoon of sugar. To the nearest grain. Or else.

Other times, he really didn't understand the need to be so precise with everything. He was a scientist, same as she was, but he didn't quadruple check paperwork before submitting it; he liked order, but he didn't have a specific place for items in his locker; and when it came to clocking out, he was glad to leave: he didn't wait for the minute hand to reach a 'nice' number.

Despite this, Danny realised that over time, he'd come to rely (in a strange way) on that precision, which was as constant as Lindsay herself. He overheard journalists talking about her earlier breakdown in the courtroom, and heard her falter just before he walked in. He didn't realise she relied on him just as much until he watched her give a horrific but flawless, confident account of that day, keeping her eyes trained on his face.

She snuck them out of the side of the court and pulled him to her rental car, pinning him to the door before he could speak and kissing him thoroughly.

"Wow, Montana - " She shushed him with a finger to his lips.

"I am officially lightened up," she whispered, echoing his words from a lifetime ago, kissing him softly. "And I'm letting my hair down." Kiss. "Living on the wild side." Kiss. Then another. And another.

Danny Messer decided that he could live with any form of Lindsay Monroe's almost obsessive precision, if he could take part in 'letting her hair down' on a regular basis.

* * *

_AN: Again, thank you all for your amazing reviews - I replied to the first dozen I think, before I realised you wouldn't get them because of alerts being down, so I'll wait until they're up again to do it properly._

_I'm really getting into the whole tone/style of writing matching the characteristic thing. This chapter took a while because I was very particular about the content and general layout (which is more evident in my word document, but actually works pretty damn well here too), so... yeah, that was quite fun to do. Incidentally, if anyone notices what it was I'm talking about... just to see if I'm completely looking too deep into things._

_Thanks again for reading, and hopefully there won't be too long a wait for the next chapter, but as I said, I really have to do some actual work. Bugger._


	6. Terra: Intolerance

**Terra: Earth**

_Intolerance _

Danny Messer discovered during their first meeting that Lindsay Monroe wouldn't put up with any shit from New Yorkers who thought it amusing to tease her because she was the new girl from the country. Personally, he found it mildly amusing; at least in the beginning. That a woman who two minutes previously had nervously introduced herself, reeled off numerous facts about tigers to Mac (that he had to admit, was a little impressive), admitting that she did it because she was nervous, could then glance round and shoot him a particularly cold glare, was quite funny.

He didn't let her know that, and even tried to make amends later in the lab when she was looking for something.

"You need any help?"

"No, you've helped enough today," she returned, in a voice that didn't invite a response. Still, it didn't stop him innocently stepping in front of her as she went back to the table, just to see how far the boundaries of the new girl went.

She huffed at him, but didn't say anything else. And, when he glanced across at her, she was surreptitiously staring at him, only to return her gaze to the evidence when he saw. So, he guessed the boundaries could be pushed a little further. All in the name of science, of course. He had to know whom he was working – partnered, even – with after all.

Calling her Montana earnt him another despairing look from her. If he was perfectly honest, that was the best nickname he'd come up with. He'd dread to think what'd happen if he went with any of the other nicknames he'd been considering...

Though a couple weeks later, he found out. Indirectly, of course. Danny was walking through the precinct during the case involving swordfish impalement, when he overheard two beat cops talking.

"… that new CSI – Monroe." He slowed down, getting a cup of water, as he tried to hear what the guy – Murphy, he thought his name was – was saying.

"What about her?"

"Bit highly strung isn't she? I mean, I call her Dorothy – coz she's from the country, right? Middle of nowhere – and tell her the commuters are getting on my back and that. Completely goes off on one! She's all 'I'm from Montana, not Kansas' – seriously, what's the difference? – " His partner nodded sympathetically, and Danny rolled his eyes. " – and then she's like 'and second, this is _my_ crime scene, I'm extremely thorough, tram opens when I'm done.'"

"Jeez those CSI detectives think they're so much better than us…"

Danny grinned to himself as he wandered off to find Hawkes, having heard enough of the complaining. Yep; he'd definitely picked the right nickname. He had to admit though, he couldn't help but feel rather proud that she'd put Murphy in his place. _And_ she'd never yelled at him for calling her Montana. Rolled her eyes, sure; glared at him for a moment, but that was about it.

He spoke too soon.

They were all on the Henry Darius case, along with Lieutenant Horatio Cane from Miami. Mac had Lindsay working evidence in the lab, which Danny thought was a pretty good idea – she was meticulous, hard-working, and had a background in blood splatter. Plus, the scene was horrific – she might've seen what fully grown black bears are capable of, but that was one man, and half a dozen school kids in there, and he didn't honestly think she'd have seen anything like that in Montana.

Thankful to be finished at the house, he made his way back to the lab, where she was working.

"Whaddya got, Montana?" he called, coming up behind her, noticing how rigid she seemed to be holding herself.

"Danny, stop calling me that, it's Lindsay; Lindsay Monroe," she snapped.

"Alright, alright, I'm just joking."

"Well it's not funny. I'm supposed to be the new girl _and_ the butt of all your jokes?"

"You upset Mac dismissed you?" Danny half asked, half deduced.

"I can handle it," she retorted, her eyes still on the evidence.

"N'ah it's not about that: he's looking out for you. You saw that place; it was a slaughterhouse in there."

"What, you think I haven't seen blood like that before?" If this was any other occasion, he might've made some smart comment about Montana and small communities, but this was definitely not the time.

"I dunno to tell you the truth. Have you?" She finally looked at him, briefly, and Danny thought he might've preferred that she yelled at him instead.

"Yes. And a lot worse than that."

After that, he tried to watch her moods more carefully, and not only with regards to calling her by her home state – though after that incident, she warmed to it considerably. If she'd had a bitch of a shift, and needed coffee far more than tea, whichever unlucky soul left the coffee pot empty (or was unfortunately in the vicinity), felt the brunt of caffeine-withdrawn Lindsay. Danny was unlucky on both accounts one night, after they'd been on for almost 26 straight hours, and he'd just finished a cup of coffee in the break room. She'd barely acknowledged his presence, or 'hey, Montana', as she'd stalked to the counter, only to find the pot empty.

"What is this?" she demanded.

"Erm, a coffee pot?" he asked, nervously eyeing the doorway and freedom.

"Guess again."

"An empty coffee pot?"

"Exactly." Lindsay placed herself between Danny and the door, glaring at him dangerously. "Did it ever occur to you that other people might have had just as bad a shift, and need coffee just as badly?"

"Well…"

"Or," she continued, cutting him off. "Are people _that_ inconsiderate sometimes?"

"Erm…"

"God! Sometimes…" she trailed off, shooting one last icy glare at Danny, before turning to the counter and angrily pulling out more coffee. Danny hurried out, making a very large, brightly coloured mental note, not to drink the last of the coffee.

Returning from questioning a witness, they were exiting an apartment building just behind two men in business suits. Neither of whom held the door for them. For Danny, that was typical; for Lindsay, it evidently wasn't.

"Well, that's nice."

"What, Montana?"

"Those two! Is it that difficult to hold a door for someone? I just can not tolerate some New Yorkers sometimes," she complained, then realised who she was currently walking down the street with, and smiled sheepishly at him. "Except you, of course. I can just about tolerate you." He grinned at her, and she smiled back, nudging his arm ever so slightly with hers.

He knew she more than 'just about' tolerated him now though. She more than tolerated his nickname – she signed a card with it, she signed notes to him about the case (and other things) with 'M', and a couple of times she'd even called him and said 'it's Montana', instead of 'it's Lindsay'. She didn't have to tolerate him not leaving her any coffee – after that one time he made sure there was plenty of coffee available if she was pulling a double, or brought her a cup when he got one (with the first occurrence earning him one hell of a grateful smile: enough of an incentive to carry on). He also remembered to keep out the way if someone else left the pot empty. He always held doors open, and not only because his mother would have killed him if he hadn't – Lindsay had a habit of brushing against him almost (but not quite) imperceptibly, and, more recently, slyly trailing her hand along his chest as she passed.

She couldn't tolerate some of the perps they had to interrogate, but he didn't mind that at all. In fact, when he wasn't getting pissed off at them himself, he found a perverse kind of amusement watching as she stared them down angrily, her voice and eyes hard as steel, knowing that they deserved every icy glare.

What he liked most of all about the things that Lindsay Monroe couldn't tolerate, was that he, Danny Messer, was the one she turned to when she needed to talk, to forget, to be comforted and reassured; he'd tolerate everything she felt intolerant of if he could continue to be that person.

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_AN: Special thanks to **marialisa**, who beta-d this chapter, and who did a great job of tidying up the last paragraph for me. -hugs- :)_

_Thank you to everyone who continues to read and/or review - I really appreciate it. I will also try my hardest to reply individually to reviews, now that I'll be able to tell who I have and haven't replied to. _

_I still have shed-loads of work, so I apologise in advance if the next chapter takes a long time coming as well._

_Thank you again for reading._


	7. Terra: Stubbornness

**Terra: Earth**

_Stubbornness _

Sometimes he admired her stubbornness. That determination to close the case and catch the bad guy so the good guys could win, no matter what. That stubbornness that made her a good cop, a great CSI, an amazing person. That intense look it gave her that caused her eyes to darken and flash; that caused her mouth to set in a determined line that he wanted to kiss and kiss until it was laughing again; that caused her head to tip back ever so slightly, giving her a fraction more height literally, and a mountain of height metaphorically.

She would set her mind to a task and see it through to the end, not caring how long it took, how much overtime she clocked up, how many empty cups of bad coffee piled up around her. This shouldn't have been new to him – not in this line of work, where determination was the driving emotion behind every pair of eyes he encountered in the lab or the precinct (closely followed by exhaustion, more often than not). It shouldn't have been new to him – not after being partnered with Aiden for so long; not after working for Mac and with Stella, all of whom displayed the same stubborn determination on certain types of cases that, when he slowed down, always caught him by surprise, and made him feel prouder than ever that he worked with such people.

It shouldn't have been new, but somehow it was.

He was finding out all the levels of tenacity, determination and stubbornness that there were to find with his new partner, and it was like seeing the whole range of emotions anew. He realised that despite the sudden, intense feelings of pride he felt with regards to the people he worked with everyday, there was always the underlying fact that he knew them and their own mannerisms and emotions. But with her, he was constantly discovering something new.

Like when they thought they had a break in a case, which turned out to be nothing more than a very strange dead end. The results had come in and she'd frowned, passing them to him as she huffed a lock of hair from her face. He tried not to concentrate on the way her lip pouted, or how the wavy tendril stubbornly settled back down on her face, and instead glanced at the paper. He frowned.

"Well. Not quite the result I was hoping for…" he said, tossing the folder on his desk. She chuckled.

"Back to the drawing board then," she replied brightly, if with slightly more of an edge than usual. He nodded absently, thinking that it would be a good time for lunch. "You coming then?" she called from the doorway.

"What? I don't even get to grab a coffee?" She sighed at his pout.

"Fine, we'll stop by the breakroom on the way." And before he could open his mouth to respond, she was striding down the corridor, heels clicking purposefully. Within a few seconds he had caught her up, his stomach forgotten as he resolutely matched his stubbornness with hers.

Other times he despaired. Like the case with Sara - the 'mermaid' from Montana - that had her working completely flat-out: he'd practically had to tie her to a chair just to get her to eat something, and even then she refused to talk about anything but the case. And as well as feeling pride and admiration and (dare he say) attraction when they were interrogating the perp, he was uneasy as hell to see how much it distressed her. Everyone had their nightmare cases; the ones that got to you in ways no other could. This was hers. But even after the killer was taken away, her eyes didn't lose that stubborn resolve. And she refused to tell him why. Which culminated in a fiercely whispered argument in the precinct, and him asking Mac to check on her. Though later that night, she turned up on his doorstep as he was dozing in front of the TV, evidently having forgiven him for arguing with her.

"I went to see him."

Her voice was quiet and strong: defiant. He wondered if she expected him to yell at her then; ask her why she would do something so pointless, something that would only end up hurting her when she didn't find what she was looking for. And he wanted to yell at her. Ask her why she put herself through that, when she must have known how it would turn out. Ask her why she made him watch. He wanted to, but he couldn't.

Instead, he sighed, stepping forward to envelop her in his arms, holding her as she first stiffened, then relaxed, then finally slipped her arms loosely around his waist. When she eventually pulled back, she smiled gratefully up at him, placing a tender, lingering hand on his cheek, then disappeared into the gloom of the hallway.

II

Sometimes, he felt something more than admiration for her stubbornness. Like the time he went to pick her up for work, and she didn't answer her bell or her phone for ten minutes. Eventually, panic beginning to grip him, he buzzed her neighbour, asking to be let in. He found her on the fire escape outside the living room window, coaxing a small tabby cat from a tree opposite. It had taken her another ten minutes to entice it close enough that she could reach over and rescue the thing. She'd shooed him out of the way immediately ("I've been at it for forty minutes; I'm not having you scaring the poor thing off."), so he just watched and grinned, wondering what exactly this feeling should be classed as.

Other times he felt downright terrified at where her stubborn streak took her. Like undercover, into a room with a man who wouldn't, and hadn't hesitated to pull the trigger. She'd looked at Stella and Flack with imploring eyes and steely resolve. She'd gazed at him with eyes begging him to understand, which then softened to a silent promise that he hoped to God she'd keep.

She did, but only just in his eyes. He held her as she clung to his vest, waiting until her breathing – at first fast, shallow and terrified – slowed and deepened, before he pulled back to look at her, all the while keeping a hand on her waist.

"You scared the hell outta me."

"I know. I'm not apologising for what I did for those girls though," she replied, looking as though she was preparing herself for an argument. He gave a shaky laugh that was more like a sigh, and she visibly softened, closing the gap so they were a hair's bredth away and only he could hear her.

"But I am sorry for what it did to you."

Sometimes, it was impossible to pinpoint the exact emotion he felt when he saw her stubbornly refusing to back down, to cave in, to give up. Like in Bozeman. He slipped in the courtroom, immediately catching her shocked gaze, and praying he made the right choice. Within seconds, as shock gave way to delight, which gave way to a 'shoulders back, head held high' determination, he knew his instincts hadn't failed him. He also knew, as their eyes held each other across the room, and later, as she spoke calmly and confidently to reporters before allowing him to take her away, that admiration seemed to have mutated to utter adoration.

And Danny Messer couldn't help but wonder when exactly Lindsay Monroe's characteristics ceased to be of her influence alone.

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_AN: Thank you to everyone who has read and/or reviewed: your comments are muchly appreciated! I had terrible trouble with that very last line - I know what I want to say, but I just can't seem to get it right._

_Very big thank you to **marialisa** for the beta/read-over. -hugs- _

_As always, I apologise if the posting is not exactly consistent - I've had three exams so far, with one tomorrow and the final one on Thursday, and I'm doing my share of stressed out panicking in between bouts of revision. _

_Disclaimer, because I don't think I've written one for a few chapters, and I wouldn't want to put the folks at CBS through the hassle of trying to sue me, only to find I have negative amounts of money..._


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